Celeborn's Club
by Erestor
Summary: What happens when Celeborn forms a club for Elves who feel Left Out? And what happens when his club just happens to include his archenemy: King Thranduil? Does stupidity ever pay? COMPLETE
1. Celeborn's Club

**Celeborn's Club  
  
by Erestor  
  
**_Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings._  
  
An Elf sat at a table under a tree, reading a newspaper and stirring his coffee pensively. His silver hair shone almost blue in the sunlight, and his green eyes were dark and listless. Newspapers are such depressing things.  
  
Another Elf came by, with a pencil tucked behind one pointy ear. He was holding a notepad. "Would you like anything else, Lord Celeborn?" he asked disinterestedly.  
  
Celeborn shook his head "No, thank you. The coffee was delicious, Elladan." Suddenly he frowned. "It is Elladan, isn't it?"  
  
"I'm Elrohir," the Elf said, gliding away.  
  
Celeborn sighed again and gazed at the hated newspaper. It did nothing to lighten his mood. In large green lettering where the words _'Lord Elesser Celebrates 25th Year Of Kingship'_. And there, a little lower, but no less prominent, was the heading, _'Colony in Ithilien Huge Success; Prince Legolas's Popularity Soars'_.  
  
A golden haired Elf, as bright and vibrant as the summer sun, peered at the newspaper over Celeborn's shoulder. A few moments later, Celeborn became aware of the sound of grinding teeth and could make out a few muttered words, "Legolas again. Every day his name appears in the papers, and where am I?" Celeborn swiftly identified the Elf behind him.  
  
"Pull up a chair, King Thranduil," Celeborn said, gesturing grandly towards the seat on the other side of the table. He thought it would be a bit safer to sit where he could keep an eye on the other Elf.  
  
Thranduil slumped into the chair and glared at the newspaper, almost as if he was trying to bore through it with his very gaze. "And he never even mentions me in those grand speeches of his. All I ask is a little recognition for raising the child! But no! He's too high and mighty for that!"  
  
Celeborn nodded his agreement, but thought it best to remain silent. He stirred his coffee again, as it was not much good for anything else.  
  
"No credit for teaching him archery! No thanks for all the hair braiding lessons! No gratitude for the hours I spent showing him how to identify Orcs and sense danger!" Thranduil cried.  
  
"Would you like something to eat?" asked Elrohir, appearing at Thranduil's elbow, a pencil hovering expectantly over his notepad.  
  
"Maybe some coffee," Thranduil said, waving the younger Elf away. He paused. "Where was I?"  
  
"Sensing danger," said Celeborn.  
  
"Ah, yes. I taught him how to paddle a boat without braining anyone or falling overboard! I taught him how to kill cave trolls! I explained to him the intricate design of. . ."  
  
"Why hello," said Lindir interjected smoothly. "What's happening here? A new club or something?"  
  
"Not really," explained Celeborn. "Thranduil was just explaining about his son."  
  
"Oh," said Lindir. "That Elf-Princeling! Him and his uppity attitude! Last time he stayed here in Imladris, he mistook me for a servant and commanded me to bring him a cup of tea. Can you believe it? I swiftly put him in his place. I said, 'Get it yourself, you old fleabag' and you should have seen his silly face then." Lindir paused thoughtfully. "He rather reminded me of a startled rodent of some sort."  
  
Thranduil got to his feet and shook Lindir's hand, before sitting back down again with a sigh. "He's not really that bad, the quest just got to his head. He was such a nice little child."  
  
"No," Celeborn said. "It's not Legolas's fault that he got all the glory and we were left with nothing but a few odd scrapings of recognition."  
  
"Yes, that's what gets to one, isn't it?" said Glorfindel, who had happened by the group of angered Elves. "The fact that we were doing things just as important as he was, and no one ever decided to make us famous."  
  
"Who does decide anyway?" asked Lindir.  
  
"I'll bet it was Aragorn," said Elrohir, returning with Thranduil's coffee. "He's a king, and influential. You'd think a foster brother would be ready to say a few good words for those who cared for him, wouldn't you? But somehow we got left out. Big coronation party, lots of games and speeches and excitement, and somehow people just forgot that Elrohir and I went through the Paths of the Dead with him too."  
  
"I thought you were Elrohir," interrupted Celeborn.  
  
"No, I'm Elladan," said Elladan. "Elrohir's cleaning up in the kitchen."  
  
"I'm sure that Arwen had something to do with that," mused Glorfindel, who seemed to harbor an absurd disliking for the Elf-maiden.  
  
"That kiss at the start of the coronation probably drove all thoughts of us from his mind," said Thranduil. "I must say that I for one was shocked. One would think that a king would behave with more decorum. But kissing her right in front of so many people, without even a 'hello' first was a bit much. Such actions are completely without propriety."  
  
Erestor came by, holding a large amount of books. He put them on a nearby table and walked round to the group. "What's going on?"  
  
"We're discussing the fact that no one remembers what we did during the war," explained Celeborn.  
  
"Remembers what we did?" echoed Erestor. "Most of them don't even know we exist! It's always Legolas, Legolas, Legolas! And with you," he nodded at Celeborn, "they only see Galadriel. The world revolves around those two Elves."  
  
Elrohir had appeared, and Elladan filled him in on what was happening. "So what do we do?" he asked, curiously.  
  
"I don't know," said Celeborn.  
  
The other six Elves wilted. "We were hoping you'd know what to do," said Lindir.  
  
"Well, why don't we start a club?" suggested Thranduil. "Celeborn's Club, for the sake of alliteration."  
  
"That's an idea!" Elladan said enthusiastically.  
  
"But what would we do?" asked Erestor.  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
**TBC**


	2. Elves vs Paint

**Celeborn's Club **

**by Erestor**  
  
_Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings._

**Breaking News:** Celeborn Announces New High Society Club

**_CHAPTER TWO_**  
  
No one was exactly sure how 'Celeborn's Club' had turned into a hot air ballooning society. Erestor suggested, perhaps sarcastically, that it was a desperate attempt on Celeborn's part to find his inner _fëa_. Celeborn, a bit more practical, said that Erestor was just annoyed because he hadn't thought it up himself. In reality, the reason they were constructing a large hot air balloon was for publicity.  
  
"This is a publicity stunt?" asked Elrohir dubiously, wishing his father had given him Vilya before leaving for Valinor. (A ring of power would have been very useful.) "Are you sure it will work?"  
  
"I don't think it will," said Erestor huffily, flouncing out of the room. "Elves aren't meant to fly."  
  
Thranduil was coating the balloon with waterproof paint. It was his favorite color. He was feeling happy and contented. Then Glorfindel came over. "Green? Why is this green? I hate the color green!" Glorfindel cried, grabbing a pot of paint and plastering little golden flowers over the material with wild abandon. Thranduil scowled.  
  
"What are you doing? I'm not going to fly anywhere in a hot air balloon covered in _flowers_!" he said in annoyance.  
  
"These are noble flowers," Glorfindel replied.  
  
"I like blue," put in Elladan.  
  
"Silver," said Celeborn. "It was **MY** idea, so I get to choose!" He hunted around for a pot of silver paint.  
  
"But _Grandfather_, silver is so boring!" wailed Elladan, clutching his can of blue paint.  
  
"Red isn't boring," said Lindir, from where he was painting butterflies on the balloon. It was fortunate that Thranduil had not yet noticed.  
  
"Purple," said Erestor, who had reappeared. He loved the thrill of conflict.  
  
The seven Elves glared at each other; a few waved paintbrushes menacingly. "I think we should be reasonable about this," said Celeborn, who had decided he was in charge.  
  
"Reasonable?" asked Lindir. He strode across the room purposefully, tripped over a bucket of paint and stumbled heavily into Celeborn. Paint flew in one direction. 

Celeborn's direction.  
  
Celeborn was now covered in yellow paint. It did not match his silver hair. "Lindir!" he bellowed.  
  
"Lord Celeborn is killing Lindir!" cried Thranduil, who didn't really care. He threw his paintbrush at the Elf in question.  
  
"Hey! King Thranduil just attacked Grandfather!" yelped Elrohir.  
  
"Stop calling me Grandfather!" yelled Celeborn, from where he was pummeling Lindir. Lindir bit him.  
  
Erestor upended a bucket of paint over Glorfindel.  
  
Elladan tackled Elrohir.

Glorfindel hit Erestor in the face with a paintbrush.  
  
Thranduil jumped on Celeborn.  
  
Lindir staggered out of the fray.  
  
There was paint everywhere. It was on the walls. It was on the floor. It was on the ceiling. It was on the Elves. It was on the hot air balloon.  
  
A few minutes later, Celeborn sat up groggily. He was hard to identify, being at least ten different colors. He looked across the devastated room. He looked at the hot air balloon.  
  
It was beautiful.  
  
It could have passed as Galadriel's artwork. It made him think of her. He felt romantic and depressed. Erestor sat up as well, a long silver streak across his face. Glorfindel, clutching his paintbrush like an axe, was wiping his hair off with his sleeve, apparently deciding that green highlights did not suit him. Elladan and Elrohir, both a becoming shade of blue, were giggling pathetically. Lindir had a paint can over his head, which he carefully removed. Thranduil waded through the ankle-deep paint puddles gingerly, looking for loose change.  
  
"Pity the reporters weren't here," said Erestor vaguely. "This would have made great publicity."  
  
"We would have looked bad," said Celeborn. "I wanted the publicity to make us look intrepid and brave, not juvenile and ridiculous."  
  
"Actually, Grandfather, you look quite vibrant," said Elladan.  
  
"But still ridiculous," muttered Thranduil. Celeborn snarled at him in a most unlordly fashion. Thranduil grinned innocently, pocketing another coin.  
  
"Wow, just look at the hot air balloon!" cried Lindir, whose eyes had just managed to focus. "Isn't it ugly?"  
  
Celeborn did not snarl. He roared. "**WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY 'UGLY'**?"  
  
Lindir put the paint can over his head again, thinking it wise to disappear.  
  
Glorfindel decided he was hungry. "Does anyone want a snack?" he asked.  
  
"Yes. Why?"  
  
"Because Haldir is coming up the path and he has a large box of carry-out lembas," said Glorfindel calmly.  
  
"Oh no! He'll see us like this!" squeaked Erestor. "Bad publicity. Bad publicity."  
  
"That's not the problem," said Celeborn. "His lembas tastes like cement!"  
  
The seven Elves stared at each other in horror. "I think it's time to exit the scene," said Thranduil.  
  
"So how do hot air balloons work anyway?" asked Elrohir casually. The Elves leapt at their device.  
  
"Pump it up!" shrieked Celeborn, hopping from foot to foot.  
  
Erestor flung a picnic hamper into the large basket. The Elves scrambled in.  
  
"Wait," said Elladan slowly. "We made this _inside_ Imladris!"  
  
There was a moment of silence. An Elf fainted. (Since the incident was not good publicity, I won't mention who.) Celeborn jumped nimbly out of the basket. "Quick! We'll push it onto the balcony!"  
  
Haldir, standing motionless on the path to Imladris, watched in amazement as a large multi-colored hot air balloon drifted clumsily over his head. It seemed to be piloted by unearthly multi-colored creatures. "Aliens! Middle-Earth is under invasion!" he screamed, dropping his cherished carry-out Lembas.   
  
The hot air balloon was headed towards Ithilien.  
  
**_TBC_**


	3. Legolas Practices Archery

**Celeborn's Club**

** by Erestor**  
  
_Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings._

**Breaking News:** Aliens Seen Near Imladris; Experts Say Attack on Ithilien is Imminent   
  
**_CHAPTER THREE_**  
  
Upon unpacking the picnic hamper, Celeborn discovered that all they had brought was a good deal of coffee. He passed it out to the others.  
  
"Coffee?" whimpered Glorfindel. "But I'm a tea-totaler!"  
  
A moment of silence. "Ha ha," said Erestor.  
  
Lindir had realized that he was afraid of heights. He looked extremely unhappy. Elladan had realized that they had brought very few sandbags with them. He looked unhappy as well. Elrohir was leaning over the side of the basket admiring the view, and scaring everyone else.  
  
"We seem to be traveling towards Ithilien!" said Elrohir.  
  
Utter pandemonium reigned after this casual comment. Thranduil went rather berserk. "Ithilien?" he cried. "That's where my son lives!"  
  
"Are you sure we should be going to Ithilien?" whispered Erestor to Celeborn. "Thranduil might commit murder."  
  
Celeborn was rubbing paint off his face. He glanced at Erestor. "It probably doesn't matter. You see, I don't know how to steer these things."  
  
Erestor clung to one of the ropes, looking a bit green. "Oh," he said.  
  
One bright, happy, pleasant little morning in Ithilien, Legolas strolled leisurely outside to do some target practice. It was mainly so that the Elven reporters could see what a great shot he was. He nodded regally to his fans, and then went to shoot a few targets.  
  
However, on this morning, the targets wouldn't be the only things he'd shoot. On this morning, a marvelous opportunity for showing off came floating contentedly towards his happy land, looming ominously on the horizon. A large, paint bespeckled Thing was advancing.  
  
At this moment, Legolas's best friend came running outside with the news. "Middle-Earth is on an alien alert!" said the friend. "Apparently one was sighted not too long ago. We're supposed to. . ." His voice trailed off abruptly. "Look at that!"  
  
Legolas turned around, staring in horror at the Thing. "Oh no!" he cried. "It's Aliens!"  
  
The friend scampered off to safety, leaving Legolas to save the day. Again.  
  
Coolly, Legolas selected an arrow, glancing behind himself to make sure at least a few reporters were paying attention. Then he fired.  
  
There was a sonic boom.  
  
"Valar save us!" screamed the reporters hysterically.  
  
"We're deflating, captain!" shouted Elladan, trying to unpack his (homemade) parachute.  
  
Celeborn was calm in the crisis. "All hands abandon hot air balloon!" he yelled.  
  
"I feel sick," whimpered Erestor, still clinging to his rope.  
  
"So do I," moaned Lindir, clinging to the coffee flagon.  
  
The balloon plummeted like a stone. The Elves hurriedly scrambled out of it, and fortunately their parachutes worked. Legolas stared in horror as six Aliens landed in his backyard.  
  
"Do not be afraid," said Celeborn. "I come in peace."  
  
Glorfindel and Elrohir were staring up into a nearby tree. "Celeborn," cried Glorfindel, "King Thranduil's stuck!"  
  
"What?" asked Legolas, horrified. "My father's here?"  
  
"Well, he's in a tree," said Elrohir. "If that's what you mean by 'here'."  
  
"I am **NOT** stuck," said Thranduil, from where he was holding onto a tree branch for dear life. "I'm admiring the view. You can tell my son to-"  
  
His words were cut off. Fortunately.  
  
Legolas glanced around. He could see his reporters watching with interest. Now was his big moment. He could see it in the headlines: "Prince Legolas Saves Father From Certain Death". That would be good publicity.  
  
"Bring forth a ladder!" he called.  
  
His friend hurriedly brought a ladder to him. Legolas propped it up against the tree and began to climb. Celeborn and his club watched with bated breath as Legolas scrambled into the lower branches. The reporters cheered and took photographs.  
  
A news reporter and camera Elf stood a little to the front, the reporter talking quickly. "Hello, this is Rumil, reporting live from Ithilien. Today, after strange sightings of an unusual device presumed to be an alien spacecraft, discoveries have been made in the right direction. After Prince Legolas shot down the strange device, it turned out to be a hot air balloon, designed by Lord Celeborn. Currently, King Thranduil is stuck up a tree, and his son is about to preform a daring rescue. We have with us today the famous Elf married to Lady Galadriel, who is willing to give us an interview. Lord Celeborn, what do you think about this situation?"  
  
"Well," said Celeborn, basking in the limelight, "it came as a surprise to me that such an innocent outing had such dire results. This morning we set out on a sight seeing tour of Middle-Earth, and only a few hours later, we're stranded in Ithilien. It's really quite hard to believe." He twirled a strand of newly painted yellow hair round his finger.  
  
By the tree, something was happening. Legolas had fallen out. Later, Legolas protested by saying that Thranduil had kicked him, but the King denied this. As it was, Legolas tumbled out of the tree and hit the ground with a resounding smack. The reporters eagerly took photographs. Rumil began chattering excitedly about the new turn of events.  
  
Legolas's friend dashed to his side anxiously. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Elrohir shook his head. "His leg is broken."  
  
"What will I do, Telcuru?" moaned Legolas. "I'm a busy Elf! I have a reputation to keep up!"  
  
But Legolas's best friend, Telcuru, was staring at Thranduil with a strange expression on his face. "You know," he said slowly,"I have a very good idea."  
  
**_TBC_**


	4. Exit Legolas, Enter Thranduil

**Celeborn's Club **

**by Erestor**  
  
_Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings._

**Breaking News:** Prince Legolas Saves Father fom Certain Death

  
  
**_CHAPTER FOUR_**  
  
Thranduil shook his head desperately. "Nonsense. There is no way I look that much like Legolas! I'd never get away with it!"  
  
Legolas shook his head as well, just as frantically. "Telcuru, you're crazy! He's my father! We look nothing like each other!"  
  
The two stared at the other Elves in horror, from where they were lying on separate hospital beds. "But Telcuru," they said in unison, "he's **UGLY**."  
  
Celeborn nodded slowly, turning to Legolas's friend. "Actually, you're right. They do look like each other. We'll pretend that Legolas is unhurt, and Thranduil will pretend to be Legolas."  
  
"Some friend you turned out to be," snapped Legolas, crossing his arms and glaring at Telcuru.  
  
"Some club this turned out to be," snapped Thranduil, crossing his arms and glaring at all in sundry.  
  
Lindir looked at the two with great interest. "It's perfect! They're nearly identical!" he realized. (Lindir was a bit slow on the uptake.)  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Thranduil slunk out of the room. He was now completely devoid of paint. He was wearing Legolas's clothes. He had a bow and some arrows. Celeborn's Club emerged a few moments later, all grinning and acting a bit too nonchalant They sauntered down the halls, and eventually discovered Thranduil autographing the diaries of various young maidens, smiling in a very strained manner.  
  
"Ah, Lord Celeborn, there you are," said Thranduil through his teeth. He smiled brightly at the girls. "This is a good friend of mine. Why don't you all get acquainted?"  
  
Erestor watched Thranduil dash off. "He probably should have introduced them to someone who was single," he muttered.  
  
Very soon afterwards, Lindir, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel and Erestor sat on a tree branch, watching Thranduil and Celeborn argue furiously.  
  
"This isn't fair!" said Thranduil. "I didn't even want to see my son, much less impersonate him! We've tried something like this before, and it didn't work!"  
  
"You're far too mean to your son," Celeborn retorted. "It will start nasty rumors."  
  
Thranduil stuck out his tongue. "I'm not mean to him. He hates me!"  
  
Celeborn raised one eyebrow. "Really? Well, you can just get over it, and do a good deed. . .for once."  
  
"If you were being forced to pretend to be Celebrían, you'd be protesting," said Thranduil.  
  
"That's completely irrelevant," scowled Celeborn.  
  
"Why? Because it's true?"  
  
"No, it's a different case altogether. You're grasping at straws."  
  
The five Elves watched with amusement.  
  
"This is entertaining," said Elladan.  
  
"Very entertaining," said Elrohir.  
  
"I never knew Thranduil was this bad-tempered," said Lindir.  
  
"I never knew Celeborn was so vicious," said Glorfindel.  
  
"They don't get along well, do they?" said Erestor.  
  
Thranduil and Celeborn stomped off in different directions.  
  
"Oh well," said Elladan. "Show's over."  
  
Celeborn's Club headed for the nearest restaurant.  
  
After a few minutes, Celeborn entered the restaurant and sat down. "What is there to drink here?" he asked.  
  
"Coffee," said Glorfindel gloomily. He poured Celeborn some of the potent mixture. "Help yourself."  
  
"No wonder Legolas is always so hyper," said Lindir. "This stuff would do it to anybody." He peered into his cup curiously. "How do they make this? With tar?"  
  
"I think my coffee is hardening," said Elladan with interest.  
  
"Really? That is unusual," said Erestor, leaning over to examine Elladan's drink.  
  
Elrohir poured his coffee out the window. The flowers wilted.  
  
Thranduil entered the restaurant next, followed by a lot of his fans. He shooed them away and sat down with a newspaper. It was not improving his mood. Every article had something to do with his son.  
  
"'A glorious example of Prince Legolas's heroism was shown today when he risked his life to save his father'!" snarled Thranduil. He took a swig of coffee and choked.  
  
"Why do you torture yourself in this way?" asked Lindir. "You don't have to read the stupid newspaper."  
  
Thranduil slammed the coffee cup down. "I want to read it! I'm imaging all the fun things that I'm going to do to my son after this. Salt in his coffee, caterpillars in his lunch, pink hair, green skin, and unexpected buckets of water over his door!"  
  
Lindir sat down again. "Oh. That's nice," he said.  
  
Thranduil flipped the page, suddenly acting unnaturally calm.  
  
"Mood swings," whispered Erestor, "if you want my professional opinion. A sure sign of a deranged mind."  
  
Thranduil turned pale. He stared at the newspaper. "I don't believe it!" he whispered.  
  
Celeborn's Club turned to were Thranduil was gaping at the newspaper. "Legolas is getting married tomorrow!" he shouted.  
  
Glorfindel glanced over the article. "My dear Thranduil," he said, "as you are Legolas at the moment, it would appear that **YOU** are the one getting married tomorrow."

And Erestor murmured into his coffee cup, "'Ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.'"  
  
**_TBC_**


	5. Breaking Up is Hard to Do

**Celeborn's Club **

**by Erestor**  
  
_Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings._

**Breaking News:** _Prince Legolas's Wedding Meets with Unexpected Setbacks!_

**_CHAPTER FIVE_**  
  
"He didn't ask for my permission! He didn't write! He never even mentioned that there was a girl in his life!" Thranduil ranted, pacing up and down the hallway.  
  
"What are we going to do tomorrow? How are we going to marry Thranduil off? Can we?" asked Celeborn.  
  
"I'm not getting married in my son's place!" stormed Thranduil. "That was not part of the bargain!"  
  
"Perhaps you'd better sit down," suggested Erestor. Thranduil did so. He looked a bit dazed.  
  
"Anyway," pointed out Elrohir, "he's already married. It would be unethical to turn him into a bigamist."  
  
Thranduil looked mildly pleased to know that there was someone else on his side.  
  
"It's really very simple," said Elladan. "As Legolas, he can cancel his own wedding. It would be difficult if he was Thranduil, but it's perfectly reasonable for Legolas to break off the engagement."  
  
"True," said Celeborn. He sighed. He had thought it would be fun to play matchmaker to an unwilling king.  
  
"Here comes the bride," said Glorfindel, who had been watching by the door.  
  
A girl strode into the room. She was wearing a long blue gown that complimented her dreamy eyes. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head. She looked tough. She looked, in Thranduil's humble opinion, evil. She also looked familiar.  
  
"Mariel Suewen?" he asked.  
  
"Legolas, darling!" she cried, flinging herself into his lap. "Who are all these handsome Elves?"  
  
"We're friends of his," said Celeborn blandly. "We're leaving now."  
  
The six Elves sauntered out of the room, leaving Thranduil to his fate.  
  
"I've planned the wedding beautifully, smoochy-pooh!" said Mariel, twirling Thranduil's hair around her finger. Her face was very close to his own. "There's the sweetest little wedding coordinator in Lothlorien, and he's promised to give us a really cute Lothlorien wedding!"  
  
Thranduil, thinking of Celeborn, knew for a fact that he hated all things Lothlorien. He just smiled distantly, trying to get his act together. This girl was deadly! No wonder Legolas was going to marry her.  
  
"Orophin!" yelled Mariel over her shoulder. "Come in here and meet my fiancé!"  
  
Thranduil gulped. Any Elf planning his son's wedding was The Enemy.  
  
Orophin slipped into the room. He had a clipboard. He also had a cheesy grin. He grinned cheesily at Thranduil. Thranduil wanted to wring his neck.  
  
"I'm your wedding coordinator!" said Orophin brightly. "I've heard lots about you, Prince Legolas."  
  
Mariel smiled at Orophin and batted her eyelashes.  
  
"Mariel told me about the time you put worms in your father's spaghetti and he didn't even notice!" cried Orophin. He giggled, obviously delighted by the hilarious tale. Thranduil almost barfed at the thought. Legolas was dead."We should get down to business," said Orophin. He sat down on the chair opposite to the one Thranduil and Mariel were sharing. "How many people do you want to come to this wedding?"  
  
Mariel frowned thoughtfully. "Hundreds," she said finally.  
  
"Can't we have a small wedding?" asked Thranduil desperately. '**NO**!' he thought. 'She's getting to me already! I really will end up marrying her! What a fate!'  
  
"A small wedding?" Mariel hardly knew the meaning of the word. Nothing in her perfect life was small. She thought _big_!  
  
Orophin smiled cheesily. 'How sweet,' he thought to himself. 'They're arguing already.'  
  
"Maybe we shouldn't get married," suggested Thranduil. Mariel looked at him with dangerously narrowed eyes. "Maybe we shouldn't get married _yet_," Thranduil improvised.  
  
Mariel snuggled closer. "But Legolas darling," she said, "I thought we wanted a big wedding. You said that you wanted to invite half the population of Middle-Earth."  
  
"With the exception of your father," said Orophin, snickering again.  
  
Legolas's new life expectancy: thirty seconds.  
  
"I can't marry you," said Thranduil. "I've rethought my life and now I realize that I'm not ready for this kind of commitment."  
  
That sounded good. It sounded noble and uncompromising. Thranduil smiled to himself.  
  
"_What_?" asked Mariel. "But I have to marry you! I want to be rich and famous. . .like. . .you. . . ." Her voice died away. Mariel had made a mistake.  
  
"I have a great idea!" said Thranduil, jumping out of the chair and plopping Mariel firmly on Orophin's lap. "Why don't you marry the wedding coordinator?"  
  
Mariel stared into Orophin's big blue eyes. Orophin stared back at Mariel.  
  
Thranduil stood very still, thinking, "_I believe in love at first sight. I believe in love at first sight. I believe in love at first sight_."  
  
Then Thranduil realized with horror that this wasn't their first sight anyway. He changed his wish. "_I believe that Mariel can fall in love with a jerk like Orophin. I believe that Mariel can fall in love with a jerk like Orophin_."  
  
It was true anyway. Mariel had fallen for Legolas. That meant that she didn't mind jerks.  
  
"Will you marry me, Mariel?" asked Orophin.  
  
"Yes," whispered Mariel dramatically.  
  
Thranduil jumped for joy and dashed out the door. He was going to get Legolas now.  
  
Unfortunately for the Lord of Lothlorien, Thranduil bumped into Celeborn first.  
  
Celeborn. The Elf who had made him pretend to be Legolas. The Elf who had tried to marry him off. The Elf who had laughed in his hour of need. The Elf who ruled people like Orophin and encouraged the art of coordinating weddings.  
  
"So?" asked Celeborn smarmily. "Can I be the best-Elf?"  
  
"I hate you!" yelled Thranduil. "Why do you make me suffer?"  
  
Celeborn grinned. "It's fun making you suffer," he explained.  
  
"I'm going to get you," said Thranduil, his voice suddenly soft and dangerous.  
  
"You're going to try," Celeborn taunted. He knew no fear.  
  
Thranduil leapt on Celeborn with a bloodcurdling war-cry.  
  
**_TBC_**


	6. Ongoing Excitement?

_Celeborn's Club  
  
by Erestor  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings._  
  
**Breaking News:** Prince's Marriage Called Off; Legolas Says Mariel is 'not for me'

**_CHAPTER SIX_**

There was only one Dwarf in all of Ithilien. And he had a grudge against two Elves in particular: Thranduil and Celeborn. He had never liked Thranduil much after the Elvenking had locked his father away. He had never liked Celeborn after he encountered the Elf's wife, the Lady Galadriel.  
  
Of course, Gimli did not like talking about Galadriel much. He was head over heels in love with her, but there was no way he was going to admit it. In quiet, dreamy moments he would imagine the fair Elf-woman with a beard. And this mental image was enough to send him into a pleasant delirium. Outwardly, he was very calm and dignified about her.  
  
He had just visited his best friend, Legolas, who was currently languishing in a hospital bed. Now the Dwarf strode through the spacious Elvish building, on his way to dinner.  
  
He had not anticipated the sight of Celeborn and Thranduil rolling over and over on the ground, kicking, punching, pulling hair, and yelling all sorts of terrible curses in High Elvish. It was rather shocking, but extremely enjoyable. Gimli stood in the hall for a few minutes, watching with interest. He couldn't tell who was coming off worse. Celeborn looked like a raccoon, with two black eyes, but Thranduil's nose was bleeding and he had a cut on his head.  
  
"Good afternoon," said Gimli, after a few minutes of pure entertainment.  
  
Their reaction was even more satisfying. Celeborn leapt to his feet, stomping on Thranduil's hand in the process, presumably by accident. Thranduil stood a little more gracefully, using Celeborn as a support, and succeeding in shoving the Elf-lord back on the ground. Neither Elf looked pleased to see the Dwarf.  
  
"What are you doing here?" snarled Thranduil.  
  
"Why, Legolas, I'm your friend," said Gimli, who knew very well that this Elf was not the prince. "How could you treat me like this?"  
  
Thranduil was nonplused. He paused, attempting to get his act together. Celeborn sniggered.  
  
"Why were you attacking poor Lord Celeborn?" asked Gimli, feigning innocence.  
  
Celeborn was not pleased to be called 'poor'. This time it was Thranduil's turn to snigger. The stately Elf-Lord glowered at the younger Elvenking.  
  
"Your fans are looking for you," said Gimli to Thranduil. "They've heard of your refusal to marry Mariel, and are most excited."  
  
Thranduil winced. "I'm in no condition to meet my fans," he said firmly.  
  
"Oh no!" said Gimli. "They're sadistic! They'd love to see you in pain!" He propelled the Elf out the door, where many beautiful females were already lurking.  
  
"Legolas!" screamed a lot of simpering maidens. "You're hurt! Let us bathe your fevered brow!"  
  
"I am not feverish," said Thranduil. "I'm wounded." He decided to act pathetic. "I've been attacked by a malicious impostor!"  
  
"Impostor?" asked the maidens. "What does that mean?"  
  
"An impostor is a person who assumes a false identity in order to deceive," said Gimli.  
  
"I'm not an impostor!" said Celeborn, stomping onto the scene. "Nor am I malicious, you stupid buffoons!"  
  
Thranduil sighed longsufferingly. "Wasn't that malicious, girls?" he asked.  
  
The girls only looked confused. They did not know what 'malicious' meant either. Thranduil, seeing their blank gazes, decided to move on. "Good- bye," he said cheerfully. He hurried out of the room.  
  
Celeborn, left in the room with the distressed maidens, knew he had to make something clear, and quickly. "I'm sorry," he said, heading for the door. "I'm married."  
  
.  
  
Celeborn's Club sat in a comfortable room in the main building in Ithilien. Lindir and Elrohir were playing checkers. Erestor was playing solitaire. And Glorfindel and Elladan were engaged in what seemed to be an increasingly violent version of tiddlywinks.  
  
"Ha! My wink is in the pot!" said Glorfindel proudly.  
  
"Your _what_?" asked Elladan.  
  
"My _wink _is in the _pot_," said Glorfindel slowly, enunciating each word for Elladan's benefit.  
  
"No, it's not," said Elladan, who had no idea of what Glorfindel was talking about, but decided that it would be wisest to disagree. Glorfindel's statements always tended to be somewhat bizarre.  
  
"See that squopping wink?" asked Glorfindel, gesturing vaguely.  
  
Elladan stared at the playing space. "Are you swearing?" he asked eventually.  
  
"No," said Glorfindel, frostily. "And stop waving your squidger around,"he commanded. "It's bad manners."  
  
"My _what_?" asked Elladan, alarmed.  
  
"Look!" said Glorfindel. "I potted another wink!"  
  
"I think you're cheating," said Elladan, going for the offensive.  
  
Glorfindel and Elladan started arguing fiercely. Erestor sighed to himself, reshuffling his cards. Elrohir moved his checker a few spaces while Lindir wasn't looking. Suddenly, Thranduil stumbled into the room, just in time to get hit on the head by a flying wink.  
  
The king sank into an understuffed chair. He looked at the club. "We need to do something," he said. "We need to think big."  
  
"But we're having so much fun," said Lindir happily, before realizing that he was losing the game.  
  
At that moment, Celeborn stumbled into the room, and collapsed on top of Glorfindel and Elladan's game of tiddlywinks, which was an unpleasant experience for all of them. Winks and squidgers flew into the air once more.  
  
"Ow," moaned Celeborn, from the floor.  
  
"We aren't doing anything interesting!" said Thranduil. "This club had so much potential! Now we're just lying around killing each other."  
  
All of the Elves exchanged worried glances. "Are you all right?" asked Elrohir. "Aren't you having fun?"  
  
"But why don't we go somewhere else?" suggested Thranduil. "Let's show Middle-Earth that we're Elves to be reckoned with!"  
  
"How could we do that?" asked Elladan.  
  
Thranduil thought for a while, concentrating hard on the problem at hand. Then he smiled. He chuckled to himself, and glanced at Celeborn with an amused gleam in his eyes. "Didn't you enjoy being aliens?" he asked them all.  
  
Glorfindel grinned at the question. "Yes. Why do you ask?"  
  
**TBC**


	7. Rampage

_Celeborn's Club  
  
by Erestor  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings._

**Breaking News:** Legolas Battles 'Malicious Imposter' in Palace Passageway

**_CHAPTER SEVEN_**  
  
"I hate paint," said Erestor. "I'm sticky all over. What if I dry like this?"  
  
"Don't worry, Erestor," said Celeborn charmingly. "You look wonderful."  
  
The seven Elves stood in Legolas's bedroom, completely covered in paint. Pouring the paint on themselves while in Legolas's bedroom had been a bit vindictive, perhaps, but then Thranduil had found it entertaining to drip paint on as many of Legolas's belongings as he could. That was _definitely_ vindictive.  
  
"You know," began Glorfindel nervously. "I think we're flammable."  
  
Elrohir agreed. "We should stay away from fire or flame."  
  
"Let's go out and scare everyone!" cried Lindir excitedly. He waved one red arm through the air with admiration. "They will flee before us!"  
  
Thranduil bounced on Legolas's bed, getting green paint all over it accidently-on-purpose. "We have to get in the newspapers, if it's the last thing we do."  
  
"How can we do that?" asked Elladan.  
  
"Chase the reporters around Ithilien!" suggested Lindir boisterously. He loved the idea of striking terror into the hearts of others.  
  
"I don't think we look scary enough," said Erestor. He was standing in front of Legolas's very large full-length mirror, appraising himself with a practiced eye. Silver and black paint trickled down his face.  
  
"We look very scary," said Celeborn. He pushed Erestor out of the way and took his turn admiring himself and his new look. Celeborn actually _did _look scary. He probably looked the scariest of the lot. He was very pleased with himself.  
  
Thranduil removed Celeborn from his path and considered his war paint in the mirror. He was green all over. His eyes were gleaming with delight. He was a close runner-up in the 'Scary Competition'.  
  
Glorfindel selected a pot of yellow paint and began decorating himself with golden flowers. "We're going to need some new clothes after this," he pointed out. "And it might not work anyway. We might get in the papers as lunatics with too much time on our hands."  
  
"But we'd be in the papers," said Thranduil cheerfully. Then he sighed. "Though I don't want to be thought of as a lunatic."  
  
"Don't worry," said Celeborn lightly. "Everyone already thinks you're a lunatic. You'd just be confirming their suspicions."  
  
"Actually, at the moment, everyone thinks I'm Legolas," said Thranduil. "Can we get a move on, please?"  
  
.  
  
The reporters in Ithilien were sitting around in a café, eating eclairs, sipping hot drinks, and reading newspapers. They all practically lived in the café, because they had to stay in Ithilien and keep a lookout for Legolas, just in case he did something interesting. They were bored.  
  
Rumil was the main reporter, because he was the one who got to go on live TV. He was handsome. He was cheerful. He actually had a career, which was more than Haldir and Orophin could say for themselves. Wedding coordinator? Ha, that was a joke. Rumil drank more of his hot drink smugly.  
  
Just then, Haldir entered the café. He was holding his box of carry-out lembas. His business was in difficulties, though every now and again someone would buy some of his lembas to poison their enemies. He was also well-known as the only Elf who had to hire a nurse to work at his restaurant, because his lembas was always sending people into cardiac arrest.  
  
"Guess what," he announced to Rumil. "Guess what!"  
  
Rumil gave up pretending that he was not related to Haldir. He folded his newspaper smoothly and turned to him. "What?"  
  
"I'm famous! You have to interview me!" he said happily.  
  
Rumil gazed at his brother doubtfully. "Why?"  
  
"Because I saw the aliens!" cried Haldir.  
  
Rumil sighed. "Haldir," he said slowly, "you didn't see any aliens. You saw seven Elves covered in paint."  
  
"But they were flying," protested Haldir in dismay. His little hopes and dreams began to crumble. He looked at his brother miserably.  
  
"They invented a hot air balloon," said Rumil. He went back to reading his newspaper.  
  
Devastated, Haldir sat down at Rumil's table, took out some of his lembas, and began making a tower. He would prop two pieces of lembas up against each other, and then lay another piece over the top. The tower got bigger and bigger. Finally, Rumil could no longer ignore it. "What are you doing?" he asked.  
  
"What does it look like? Am I flying a kite?" asked Haldir with surprising sarcasm. He added another level to his tower.  
  
Then the world ended.  
  
At least, that was what Rumil thought. He gawked at the seven unearthly figures that entered the little café. He heard someone laughing evilly. There was smoke everywhere. He decided to hide under the table.  
  
Meanwhile, Haldir lobbed a piece of his lembas at one of the aliens. The alien dropped to the ground like a stone.  
  
Celeborn's Club knew that they were making a good impression. All the reporters were terrified.  
  
"The mist machine was a good idea, Elrohir," said Celeborn.  
  
"Thanks, Grandfather," said Elrohir.  
  
"Don't call me 'Grandfather'," snapped Celeborn.  
  
"One of them got Lindir," said Glorfindel. "I think he's alive though."  
  
"All right, on the count of three, we will chase the reporters out of the café and around Ithilien," said Celeborn. "One. . . two. . ."  
  
"Happy Birthday!" shouted someone.  
  
"What in the world was that?" asked Thranduil.  
  
"Happy Birthday!" said the same someone again, pushing his way through the crowd. His wife dashed behind him, waving a birthday cake and a bunch of balloons.  
  
Thranduil gaped at Lord Faramir. "Uh. . .what are you doing here?"  
  
"It's your birthday, Legolas." Faramir beamed at the Elvenking and shoved a cheerfully wrapped present into his arms. "Don't you remember?"  
  
"No," said Thranduil.  
  
Éowyn bounced to his side and tied the balloons to his wrist by their brightly-colored strings. She dumped the cake on the only table in the café that remained standing.  
  
"Who are these guys covered in paint?" asked Faramir. "Clowns?"  
  
"I'm beginning to feel like one," muttered Erestor.  
  
"Uh. . .yeah," said Thranduil. "They're clowns for my birthday party. You're just in time to. . .uh. . .celebrate."  
  
Haldir poked his head out from under the table. "Hey, aren't you Lord Celeborn?" he asked.  
  
Celeborn scowled at him. "One more word," he said threateningly, "and I'll have your tongue cut out."  
  
Haldir decided that silence is golden.  
  
"Open your present," commanded Éowyn.  
  
Thranduil carefully opened Legolas's present.  
  
"Do you like it?" Éowyn asked, gazing at him sternly.  
  
"Yes," said Thranduil nervously. "It's just what I always wanted."  
  
It was a spider plush toy.  
  
**_TBC_**


	8. Newspapers and Fame At Last

**Celeborn's Club  
  
by Erestor  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings.**  
  
**Breaking News:** _Legolas Celebrates Birthday with Attack-Clowns[1]_

_._

_._

_._  
  
_CHAPTER EIGHT  
_  
"I am evil," said Legolas. "I am nasty. I love abusing my wonderful son. I have no brains. I am crazy. Bow to me! Give me money!. . .Har har har."  
  
Legolas was pretending to be his father. He had realized that if everyone thought Thranduil was him, then everyone would think he was Thranduil. He was going to take advantage of this fact. He was going to act evil and deranged. He hauled himself out of bed, practicing his evil and deranged laugh with grim determination.  
  
"Har har har." He tried again. His evil and deranged laugh sounded like a shredder getting jammed on block of cement. Or like a elephant getting rubbed with sandpaper. Pathetic. He should be capable of sounding eviler than that. "Har har. . .ouch."  
  
Legolas picked himself off the floor. He had forgotten about his broken leg. He was now painfully reminded of it. He staggered to the door of the infirmary and opened it. He peered down the hallway. An Elf was meandering down it. Great! This was perfect opportunity to practice being Evil Thranduil.  
  
.  
  
Rumil was still attempting to get over his horrible shock. He had been attacked! By clowns! Rumil had a fear of clowns. He had developed it in the past thirty minutes. Now he took several deep breaths and continued down the hallway.  
  
And then an Elf stepped out of the door. He was limping. He was chuckling gruffly under his breath.  
  
"Prince Legolas?" asked Haldir.  
  
The Elf stopped limping and chuckling and merely looked startled and dismayed. "How did you know?"  
  
"I've been watching you for the past year," said Rumil, his tone telling the prince that he considered the year a waste of time. "Not to mention that I saw you fall out of a tree. You broke your leg."  
  
Legolas winced. "I certainly did."  
  
"What were you doing?"  
  
"I was pretending to be my evi- my father," said Legolas. "He's pretending to be _me_, you see."  
  
Rumil nodded as if it made sense. "That's nice."  
  
Legolas limped down the hallway and found his bedroom door. He flung it open and stepped inside. His eyes widened. He looked horrified.  
  
"What is it?" asked Rumil.  
  
"They got. . .they got. . .paint. . .look. . .paint. . .green. . .they. . .they. . ."  
  
Legolas was hyperventilating. Rumil peeked inside and frowned. There was paint everywhere. Most of it was green. "Who did this?" he asked. Perhaps they could get revenge. . .  
  
"Celeborn's Club," snarled Legolas.  
  
.  
  
"Never have I been so humiliated!" cried Erestor. He had been ranting for a while. He was furious. No matter how hard he rubbed, his paint would not come off. He was going to be silver and black for a long, long time. "Never have I been so mortified! I demand recompense!"  
  
"Be quiet," snapped Celeborn, leveling the advisor with a very angry glare. He was scrubbing frantically at his face. The paint was not coming off him, either.  
  
"I can't believe this!" wailed Lindir. "It's meant to come off!"  
  
"Everyone's going to know that we were the– the clowns," choked out Elrohir.  
  
Glorfindel was gazing unhappily at his reflection. "I don't think we'll ever live this down."  
  
"Where are we anyway?" asked Elladan gloomily. "This doesn't look like Legolas's bedroom."  
  
There were lacy curtains in the window and flowers painted on the walls. The bedspread was a mass of frills.  
  
"This must be Mariel's room," said Celeborn. "It seems a lot like her."  
  
"Maybe we could find something here," suggested Thranduil, rooting through a drawer. He produced a bottle and waved it delightedly. "This might work!"  
  
"What is it?" asked Lindir.  
  
"Nail Polish Remover," said Thranduil. "Wait a moment. It's got a warning label on the back."  
  
Celeborn's Club read the label silently.  
  
_CAUTION: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF GLORFINDELS._  
  
"That's odd," said Glorfindel.  
  
.  
  
"Behold the new, paint-free Elrohir!" cried Elrohir, prancing cheerfully around the room. "Not a spot of it anywhere!"  
  
Erestor had only managed to clean his face. He scowled at the younger Elf, who was completely devoid of paint. Lindir and Elladan had also been lucky in getting to use the remover first. Thranduil and Celeborn were fighting over the bottle.  
  
"I should get it! It's my club!" yelled Celeborn.  
  
"Well, it hasn't been a very good club!" yelled Thranduil. "Anyway, I found the stuff!"  
  
"Here, give it to me," said Glorfindel. He grabbed the bottle. It slipped from his grasp and flew across the room.  
  
"Oh, Valar," said Thranduil, heading for the door as quickly as possible.  
  
"What?" asked Celeborn, deciding to go with him.  
  
The bottle of nail polish remover landed in the fireplace. Unfortunately, there was a fire inside it. Nail Polish Remover is very, very flammable.  
  
.  
  
Celeborn was drinking coffee the next morning in a bright, sunny room. There were flowers in little pots beside him. There were clean white curtains hanging in the windows. There were kind Elven women in uniforms to make sure he was comfortable. The infirmary wing was not a terribly bad place to be in, even if you were suffering for second-degree burns in various unpleasant places.  
  
"Here's your newspaper," said one of the nurses kindly. "Would you like more coffee?"  
  
Celeborn said yes, and the nurse poured him some more. He unfolded the newspaper.  
  
Suddenly Lindir dashed into the room. He was in a wheelchair, and a lot of nurses were chasing after him. He was waving a newspaper. "Look, Lord Celeborn! Look! We're in the newspaper!"  
  
.  
  
"I'm sorry you're hurt," said Legolas. He handed his father a balloon that said 'Get well soon' in bright, happy letters.  
  
"Here's your spider plush toy," said Thranduil, passing it to his son. "It's a birthday present from Faramir."  
  
Legolas beamed with delight. "Aww. Isn't it cute?"  
  
Thranduil shuddered. "Very."  
  
"You wanted to be in the papers, didn't you?" asked Legolas.  
  
Thranduil became worried. "Y-e-s," he said slowly.  
  
.  
  
"I can't believe it," said Erestor, staring wide-eyed at the newspaper. "Not after all this. Why me? What did I do? Was it calling Glorfindel an agrestic anathematic megalomaniac? I take it back! He's really quite a nice guy!. . .I can't believe it. Why me? Why? Why? Why?"  
  
Glorfindel frowned. "You're overreacting. Nothing is ever as bad as you make it out to be." He trundled his hospital bed a bit closer to Erestor's. "Let me see."  
  
Erestor pointed. Glorfindel stared.  
  
"Oh. . .Valar. . ."  
  
.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir weren't sure if they wanted to laugh or cry. They decided to laugh. "It's brilliant! I wouldn't have thought of this in a million years!" said Elladan, chuckling to himself.  
  
"Legolas is a genius!" said Elrohir. "Here, let me see the paper again."  
  
Elladan passed the newspaper back to his twin. "As soon as I get out of this hospital bed, I'm going to. . .well, I'll think of something. He deserves a prize!"  
  
.  
  
"I can't believe my club came to this," said Celeborn. He stared blankly at the paper. Lindir decided to comfort him.  
  
"Well, we're in the newspapers," he said. "Fame at last, and all that."  
  
"We're in the _comic section_!" cried Celeborn. "We're _cartoons_!"  
  
"People like to laugh," said Lindir. "It's pretty entertaining when you think about it."  
  
Celeborn thought about it. He thought about the hot air balloon blowing up. He thought about Legolas falling out of the tree. He thought about the paint fight in Imladris. He thought about punching Thranduil in the face. He thought about trying to get Thranduil to marry Mariel. He thought about scaring all the reporters in the café. He thought about Thranduil's expression when Faramir had given him a plush toy for his birthday.  
  
He began to laugh.  
  
"He's gone mad," sighed Glorfindel.  
  
"Cracked completely," agreed Elrohir.  
  
"I always knew he was mentally unstable," said Erestor.  
  
"He used to looked slightly deranged at times," said Thranduil.  
  
"But now he's too far gone," said Elladan.  
  
"He'll never be the same again," said Lindir.  
  
Celeborn's Club had gathered around the door of Celeborn's room. They were all staring at him sadly.  
  
Celeborn glanced at Thranduil and began laughing harder. "You looked so funny," he gasped, "when Faramir. . .heehee. . .handed you the. . .hahaha. . . the- the - _spider_. . .hohoho."  
  
Thranduil stiffened. "Well," he said, "you didn't like so great when you tripped on Glorfindel's squopping winks!"  
  
"What does squopping mean anyway?" asked Elladan.  
  
"You must admit," said Glorfindel, "squopping is a wonderful word."  
  
"I had fun," said Lindir. "What a great club!"  
  
They were all laughing now, except for Thranduil and Erestor. The expressions on the faces of the two Elves only added to the general hilarity.  
  
"You must have had fun at least once!" said Elrohir.  
  
"I had fun punching Celeborn in the face," said Thranduil.  
  
"I had fun scaring the reporters," said Erestor with a rather scary smile.  
  
Legolas entered the room. All seven Elves were laughing, some harder than others. Elladan in particular appeared to be on the verge of passing out.  
  
The Elf-Prince grinned to see such fun.  
  
Thranduil grinned back. "Thanks for starring me and the others in a comic strip."  
  
"Not at all," said Legolas.  
  
"You're grounded," added the Elvenking.  
  
.  
  
Legolas limped down the hallway, sounds of laughter jarring in his head. "I am evil. I am crazy. I abuse my wonderful son."  
  
He paused.  
  
"Har har har," he said.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
_THE END_

-----------------------  
  
[1]Attack-clowns: somewhat like attack-dogs, but worse.


End file.
